Total Drama Chris-travaganza!
by gypsy rosalie
Summary: After nine seasons of abusing animated teens and several arrests for gross negligence, the 'host with the most' attempts one final season…by himself. It's hour upon hour of Chris on the air! With occasional interruptions from his one remaining companion, Chef, and a couple of guest appearances. Crack! Giftfic for Torie Rilistkrytcat.


**Just so you know, this is total and utter crack and parody. Warning: egos galore, some mild humiliation and fighting and annoyance. This fic is set about six years after the most recent season, after several more seasons have aired, and so there are occasional joke references to the fictional ****_Total Drama Amazon_****, which is meant to be season eight. **

**This is also a giftfic for the lovely Torie Rilistkrytcat. This isn't my fandom, (though I do quite like the show) and I'm not a dab hand at writing for it, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Also, credit to Torie for the Courtney idea.**

* * *

'Season Ten of Total Drama, folks!' Chris announced grandly, raising his arms in a boastful gesture. 'The world is gonna be mine- _literally_, this time. Thaaat's right, no more sharing my screen-time with losers and freaks- this year, I'm doin' it solo!'

He gave a small leap of joy, tossing all the contracts of the new teens who'd signed up into the air. In the distance, a large group of overly-hopeful teenagers _awwwww_ed as one, and a few empty cans were thrown in Chris's direction.

'Sadly, the government were opposed to some of my, uh, more _creative_ challenges for the contestants,' Chris stroked his chin, 'of course, we all remember in Season Eight- Total Drama Amazon, during the ride-a-gator race, when Blaineley got eaten…yeah, they're forcin' me to cut back on all the really cool stuff, and they're sayin' now that forcing people to compete in dangerous tasks is… 'il-le-gal',' he made a face, 'and that if I wanna do another show, I have to cut out anything remotely dangerous. Well, instead of letting those dorks _stuff the fun_ outta my show, I have decided that, since there's now nothing life-threatening, this can be a chance for me to strut my funky stuff on-screen and score a free trip to wherever the hell I want! So, without further ado, say hello to your awesome host, as well as your one and only contestant- _Chris McLean!_ That's right, get ready for hours and hours of me, me, me!'

'Ahem,' came a booming grumble, and Chris turned to see Chef standing in the background, cases packed, arms folded and a disgruntled look upon his face. Chris paused, wondering if he should concede and announce to the cameras that, yes, Chef Hatchet was also coming along for the ride.

He decided against it, waving these thoughts away. 'Eh.'

Chris turned back to the camera, pulling out his famous smile, the one that made millions of girls worldwide fall in love with him (if, of course, you defined 'worldwide' as Chris's bathroom mirror, and 'millions of girls' as 'Chris's reflection'). 'I'll be competing for _one-million-dollars-_ that's right, a million dollars just for me!'

Again, Chef made a disgruntled noise, clearly hinting that the aforementioned million dollars should be shared between the two of them, and again, Chris ignored him.

'Get set for the ride of your life, folks, on Total- Drama-' Chris paused, reading the new title. 'Dang, now that's just _lame._ I think what _this _show needs to fly is a totally new, totally awesome, totally catchy title- I've got it!' He tossed all the official papers for the show aside, the clipboard bonking Chef on the head in the process.

'Everyone, get set for the show everybody will be talkin' about for years to come- the most fun-packed season yet, which shall henceforth be known aaaas…' he cleared his throat, 'Total-Drama- CHRIIIIIIIS-STRAVAGANZA!'

He threw his arms into the air, his smile gleaming, and the cameramen hastened to cut.

The credits rolled, the familiar theme-tune blaring, accompanied by footage of Chris climbing a mountain, Chris flexing his muscles, Chris standing by a surfboard on a beach, wearing shades and posing for a group of giggling girls, a sphinx with a Chris-face being carved by a horde of exhausted Egyptians whilst Chris posed, Chris eating all the invincibility marshmallows, Chris grinning, Chris winking, Chris being generally charismatic, all interspersed with the occasional clip of Chef tromping grouchily after his host, carrying a heaped pile of suitcases.

Oh, yes, this was certainly going to be a memorable season of Total Drama.

* * *

An arrow sailed through the air, and a young, blonde, and unusually familiar young man fell down dead.

'Aaaaand that was my experimental crossbow killing an intern,' Chris said from off-screen. He strolled into view, carrying a rather deadly-looking weapon, which he hastily tossed aside. 'I guess that's probably what those lawyers would classify as 'dangerous'. Weeeell, we won't be seein' Mister Crossbow in any more episodes. Oh, don't worry about that intern's untimely death, folks. Fortunately you won't have to see many of them- as promised, I will deliver an entire show of Chrissy goodness for your entertainment, without all those dorks gettin' in the way. Buuuut occasionally you do need some dumb stopgap to take a bullet- or an arrow- for ya, hence the need to occasionally show,' he shuddered, 'other people. And, once in a while, the awesome but heavy burden of being me gets just a liiiittle much to take, and so I need a sidekick to take the abuse.' He glanced to his right, and the camera panned over to where Chef was standing with his burly arms folded.

At the mention of the words 'sidekick' and 'take the abuse', his jaw dropped. 'Hey!'

Chris ignored him. 'Aaaand now, the fun begins! Alrighty, folks, let's kick things off with our first day, at our first destination. Here we are on the Island of Super-fun, and our contestant is left to fend for himself against the dangers that lurk around this mysterious isle…' he snorted, 'and his first challenge, of course, is to find his way to the accommodation!'

He gestured around himself to the 'dangerous path' he would have to take, indicating a fairly straight, smooth road with a sign reading 'accommodation this way' which ended at the front door of the most luxurious hotel in existence.

'While I tackle this challenge, I'll leave Chef here to get settled into his quarters,' he tossed his suitcases at Chef, who groaned, 'hasta luego, amigo!' And with that, he set off down the track to his luxury hotel, yelling _hey, follow me!_ to the cameras.

Chef stared at the baggage that had been dumped around him, and then in the direction of his quarters, where a run-down, foul-smelling shack lay in wait for him.

Oh, this was _not_ his idea of a good time.

* * *

'Invincibility time!' Chris said grandly, stepping up towards the podium with a tray of marshmallows in his hand. A handful of empty seats were situated around the campfire, in one of which, Chef sat grumbling to himself, his chef's hat flopping over his face, toasting a sausage and trying not to pay attention. He wasn't enjoying this one bit- as well as having to cook for Chris, carry luggage for Chris and clean up after Chris, he wasn't getting a single line on this show. The only thing worse would be to have to wear the parka of shame again- and he wasn't sure he wouldn't be donning the garment soon, given that every time he attempted to leave the Island of Super-fun, he was threatened with it.

'I've tallied up the votes,' Chris continued from up on the podium, holding up a single slip of paper, 'aaaand, this week, invincibility goes to the winner of the find-your-accommodation challenge….CHRIS MCLEAN!'

'Surprise, surprise,' murmured an intern from off-screen, and was promptly shot.

'Now, the first marshmallow goes to…'

Chef sat up straighter. It was about time something good came his way, and there were eight of the puffy white sweets up there- he was bound to score one. After all, Chris had promised he'd get to stay 'til the end of the show (or rather, he'd told him he was_ required_ to stay until the end, but either way, it should still warrant a marshmallow.)

'Chriiis,' Chris announced, tossing the first in the air and catching it in his mouth. 'Oh, maaaan, that's good! Now, the second marshmallow goes to…'

Chef sat up even straighter, his back beginning to feel like a ramrod.

'Chriiiis…'

Chef opened his own mouth and leaned forward as Chris held up the third marshmallow.

'Chriiiiis….'

He tapped his foot.

'Chriiiis…'

He stood up, holding up a baseball mitt.

'Chriiiis…'

He moved closer, holding out both hands.

'Chriiiiiss…'

Chef tapped the host on the shoulder as the seventh marshmallow was announced.

'Chriiisss…'

Oh, that did it. With a mighty roar, Chef Hatchet leapt at Chris, intending to crash-tackle the host before he could scoff the final marshmallow. Chris, however, merely stepped aside, causing his 'sidekick' to crash into a tree.

Chris shook his head, tutting. 'Some people just can't control their greed,' he said, and then stuffed the marshmallow into his mouth. 'Chef, just for that, tomorrow you will wear…the _Parka of Shaaaaame!_'

Dramatic music sounded, courtesy of the behind-the-scenes crew, and Chris made scary spirit-fingers before continuing.

'And, of course, the camper without a marshmallow will find themselves on the walk of shame, heading home on the boat to _lo-ser-dom!_ Seeing as Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris and Chris are safe, tonight, we're sending home…'

'I'll get muh stuff,' Chef groaned, picking himself up the floor.

'Not so fast, Cheffy Boy,' Chris warned, shaking his finger, 'if you were goin' home, we wouldn't get to make fun of you wearin' the stupid parka! Siddown!'

Chef did so, grumbling to himself about all the ways he'd make Chris pay for this series of Total Drama.

'We're sending home,' Chris said again, trying to drag out the suspense with a long pause, 'Mister Stick-that-I-found-on-the-beach-this-morning!'

'Whaaaaat?' Chef said.

'Whaaaaat?' one of the interns said, and was bopped on the head with a mallet.

'Whaaaat?' echoed one of the parrots on the island.

Chris gestured to one of the seats around the campfire, on which, Chef now noticed, was lain a very ordinary looking stick. It didn't react to being eliminated- after all, it was just a stick, and sticks don't tend to notice they've suddenly been snatched from their cosy little homes and roped into a game show just so Chris can have someone to throw out.

Chris marched over to Mister Stick-that-he-found-on-the-beach-this-morning, picking it up and hurling it towards the dock.

'Adios, loser! And that wraps up the first episode! Coming up soon- how will Chef cope with wearing the Parka of Shame on a sweltering tropical island- the Island of Mega-fun, off the coast of Madagascar, which is our next destination-? Will Chris manage to avoid elimination again? Who will stay? Who will go? Tune in next time to _Total Drama Christravaganza!'_

The end credits for the episode rolled, and Chris smiled smugly at the completion of his first, entirely Chris-centric episode.

* * *

'Chaaaaallenge of the hot tubs!' Chris announced. The camera zoomed out from his face to reveal him sitting in an enormous, luxurious, steamy hot tub, a half-drunk cocktail in one hand and a smug grin on his face.

'Today our contestant faces the gruelling challenge in which your contestant has to endure three hours of warm, bubbly…' he lowered his voice, '_luxury.'_ Chris sounded as though he was talking about his impending doom, rather than a soak in a spa.

'The winner of this challenge wins invincibility- and _can't_ be voted off. Hey, Chef, can we get another of those mojitos over here?

Chef rolled his eyes as he clomped over with a tray of drinks, sweating under the hideously embarrassing parka.

Three episodes had aired.

Three episodes of Chris showing off.

Three episodes of Chris winning various prizes, making hundreds of reward challenges just so the network budget could pay for some flash new gear and delicious goodies for him.

And three episodes of Chef being forced to wear that damn parka. In hot countries. In hot countries where Chris insisted on sunbaking on the beach, on swimming in hot springs, in _reclining in damn hot tubs!_

It just wasn't fair. He'd only been supposed to wear it for one episode, as punishment for his supposed greed during the marshmallow incident, but every time he attempted to take it off, whether or not they were on the air, Chris would poke his head into the scene with a sly smile, waggle his finger and say 'uh uh _uhh_…'

If Chef had a dollar for every time he'd wanted to punch the host over these past few episodes, he'd be able to afford a show of _his_ own.

'Look, chief,' he said as Chris snagged a drink with each hand and sat there slurping them from four straws, 'do I have to keep wearin' this thing for the _entire show_?'

'Hmmmmmm,' Chris said, sucking at the straws and making annoying draining noises as he got to the bottom of the glasses, 'that might be a good idea…it sure is fun watchin' you sweat…'

Chef fell to his knees with a groan. '_Whyyyyyy?'_

_'Because I feel like it!'_

Chef groaned even louder. 'Well, can I at least have one o' those mojitos? I'm thirsty!'

Chris's eyes went from his suffering colleague to the tray of drinks and back. He curled his lip.

'We-eeeell…I'd lethcha have one, but…I only have three left…sorry, nothin' I can do…' he shrugged, snatched up the remaining drinks and began swigging, leaving Chef practically in tears on the floor.

* * *

Chris sat in the confessional, one leg swung over the other, beaming cheekily at the camera.

'If Chef thinks wearin' that parka is the only thing he's gonna have to do, he's in for a biiig surprise!' he laughed. 'Oh, I've got stuff in store for him that'd…'he paused, shiftily looking left and right, 'they sued me for abusing _teens_, and…those _not-so-teen-anymore losers_ who keep comin' back season after season, and they said we couldn't do any more violence- but they never said anything in the new contract about what I could and couldn't do to _Chef!_ And they never said anythin' about _hu-mi-li-a-tion!_'

He grinned and winked at the camera before spending the next ten minutes admiring his reflection in the camera lens.

* * *

'And welcome, _mis amigos_, to Total Drama Christravaganza Aftermath!' Alejandro Burromuerto shot a smouldering smile at the camera, and fans all over the world melted. From the other side of the set, seated amongst the other usual competitors of the Total Drama series, ( all of whom were furious at being ditched this season) Heather shot him a seething glare.

'Today we come together to discuss perhaps the most terrible tragedy in television history- an entire season devoted to Chris. I mean,' he scoffed, 'come on, who would want to watch a series of Total Drama without the delectable Alejandro Burromuerto? Of course, everyone remembers when, by popular demand, I was brought back for Total Drama Amazon, and how I charmed those gators with my beauty and wit, thus saving my beloved team-mates…'

'Yeah, _saving_ them,' snorted Heather, 'if that's what you call setting a pack of alligators on Blainely…'

Alejandro narrowed his eyes. 'Why, _mi amor_, if I had not sent those reptilian beasts into a fit of swoons and directed them in her direction they would surely have gone for _me! _I mean…for _us_!'

The rest of the Aftermath panel exchanged dubious glances, and quite a few of them looked about ready to oppose Alejandro's logic when, with a terrific squeal, the like of which had the potential to shatter glass, Sierra leapt onto the set, grinning inanely and clutching Cody to her bosom.

'Ooooomigoshyouguuuuuys!' she shrieked, pirouetting and somehow managing to clap her hands in excitement, despite her arms being clamped around her 'husband', 'this season is sooooo cool! We get to see Chris being really really really hot all day all night...I've got so much material for my Chris-is-smokin' blog! Although,' she paused to press a smooch to Cody's forehead, 'he's not as _smokin'_ as my Cody-kins!'

Alejandro gave her a disbelieving roll of his eyes. 'Yeah, because three whole episodes of Chris being vain, with another twenty or so still to have to endure, is _muy muy cool_.'

Sierra missed the irony in his voice. 'I knoooow, riiiight?'

'Chris gets his own show and I don't,' whined Courtney from the panel, 'it's not fair! I've been part of this _crummy_ program for nearly ten years, and do they give _me_ a season to myself? _Noooo_, every year for the past seven years I've been stuck on a team with _Heather and Gwen._ I don't even get new teammates- just stuck with the same losers year after year-' at this, both Heather and Gwen fumed at her, 'let alone the show I deserve! I'm gonna _sue!'_

'Uh…_yeah_…' said Alejandro, struggling to take control of the hosting once more, 'but Courtney, _mi querida_, if you sue this show, there goes your chance of keeping your pretty little face on television!'

Courtney, despite reiterating every season that she would no longer fall for Alejandro's affected, manipulative charms, was becoming a little flustered.

'Erm, _hello?_'

Alejandro jumped and turned around to see Heather standing behind him, hands on her hips and tapping her foot. He swallowed.

'What do you think you are doing? You belong to _me_,' she said, 'you got that? No more foolin' around with other...with those _jerks!_'

'Oh, your eyes, _mi amor. _How they do sparkle so when you're mad. But come now, Heather, surely you can see I was merely employing a strategy to make sure you and I win…'

'Win _what_? We're not even competing for anything! We're just stuck here doing stupid commentary on Chris's ego-centric road trip!'

'Ahem, you know, I think the phrase _road trip_ implies travelling on a _road_,' Harold called out, 'you need to be _terminologically accurate_ here. Chris is taking _planes_ to these places- the correct term for his _voyage_- that's French for journey- is…'

And the entire set erupted in an enormous fight. Items were thrown, people were punched, names were called, and the former contestants all engaged in a tangled brawl, with phrases such as _you jerk_ and _shut up, Harold_ being shrieked over and over.

'Hey!' yelled Chris from the giant screen behind them, bored of the live clips of his 'adventures' not being watched or discussed by anyone, 'aren't you guys gonna talk about _me_? This is the _Chris-_travaganza, not the _looooooser-fighting-looooser-_extravaganza!'

The ex-contestants battled it out, totally ignoring him.

'Dude,' said Duncan to no-one in particular, coming up for air from the fight, 'if this show lasts one more episode, I'll rip out my eyebrow piercing.'

The fight stopped, everyone staring at him in shock. Courtney grinned.

'If this show lasts one more episode, I'll be glad to do the honours myself!'

* * *

'Aaaaand in episode four,' Chris announced, lying back in his deck chair, 'we find our contestant- me- on a gruellingly relaxing beach on the Island of…I can't pronounce these wacky foreign names, I'm just gonna call it the Island of Major-Fun… just off the coast of Greece. Instead of doin' anythin' cultural, though, I will be facin' the most chaaaaallenging challenge of all- _bein' me_.'

Chef, still wearing the hideous parka, grunted and rolled his eyes.

'And at the end of this cakewalkin' easy- I mean…suspenseful and tricky reward challenge, the winning contestant- _three guesses who that will be_ wins a deluxe sound system, a pamper session at the nearest day spa, and a…'

'Attention! Chris McLean!'

The rough voice, being squawked out over the island through a megaphone, had both Chris and Chef jumping to their feet.

An armada of police boats had materialised on the beach, with row after row of gun-toting, helmeted cops leaping out and running toward them.

Chris's jaw dropped. 'Get off my show! You're taking up space on my screen!'

'Chris McLean!' said one of the cops, taking a menacing step forward, 'you're under arrest for…' he flipped open a notebook and scanned it, 'for embezzling seven million dollars from the Total Drama Franchise to fund your little pleasure trip, for fraud, for false advertising, convincing contestants that the show was open and then disregarding all their applications without official interviewing, for wasting valuable airtime and bribing the network not to axe your show, and for, uh…_Chef-abuse_.'

Chris's jaw dropped further. 'You can't arrest me! I'm the host with the most! I'm the star of the game! I'm the winner of the competition, I'm…'

'Goin' to jail,' said the policeman, and two others ran forward to grab his arms.

'Whaaaaaa?' Chris wailed as they began to escort him toward the boat. 'B-but…I've still got loads o' episodes still to shoot! How did they know I was embezzlin'…uh…_who did this?!_'

As he was dragged away, still roaring in protest, Chef Hatchet grinned guiltily and tossed a cell phone into the sea.

He turned to the cameras, which were pointed at him and squared his shoulders.

'Well,' said Chef, 'are we still on, huh?'

The cameraman nodded. Chef grinned, ripping off the parka of shame and jumping on it several times before clearing his throat.

'Welcome,' he said, in a terrible imitation of Chris, 'to the Total Drama Chef-stravaganza! It's mine…at last this show is _all mine!_'

And with that, he flopped into the deck chair, donned a pair of sunglasses, picked up Chris's half-drunk cocktail and gave a great sigh of satisfaction.


End file.
